Page 63 of Coming Home
Iwant to wake up, I have to wake up but my eyes are stuck shut by the glue of sleep that holds me down so even if I try to claw my way to consciousness, my leaden limbs refuse to move and I am trapped in the worst of my dreams.
I am being sucked down into a swirling vortex and into the past, a day I try so hard to forget. We are speeding along an icy country road that is slick from a recent downpour and our route is marred by thick fog. It’s like driving into the face of death and any second we could smash into a vehicle coming the opposite way. I pray that the quiet country lanes remain so and we are spared, that luck is on my side. My right hand grips the seat, the other is wedged against the dash, bracing myself in case we crash.
It is morning; the clock on the dash says 9.15 and I know that in ten minutes my life will change forever. The ticking starts, loud and clear, counting down. Above us the winter sun has no chance of breaking through the greyness that envelops us and the world that I can glimpse beyond the windscreen looks dismal, it feels dismal, I am dismal.
We are on our way to the doctor’s for my antenatal. We are late after dropping the girls at school. Sebastian is driving too fast as always, taking corners that cause the back end to skid and my heart to lurch. I can smell stale alcohol on his breath, the fumes from a whisky binge the night before are making me nauseous and the bruises on my back and arms cause me to wince whenever I am flung against the seat and car door.
I implore him to slow down. ‘Sebastian, please, you’re going to get us killed.’ He ignores me and even pushes on the accelerator, letting me know he is in control.
He is in a foul mood and taking it out on me because as we left I was stupid enough to voice my fears and ask a question that has been burning a hole in my brain. It just came out. I couldn’t hold it in anymore. I had to know. The signs of his infidelity have been there for so long but I chose to ignore them until now, after hearing the end of a whispered conversation promising a faceless woman at the end of a phone that he would tell me soon.
I have to know so, despite his anger, I ask again. ‘Sebastian, are you leaving us?’
‘Leave it, Carmen, I mean it.’ A simple question that pushes him almost to the edge, his puce face glistening with sweat and even though I am scared for my life and that of the baby inside me, now I’ve started, I can’t stop.
‘Answer me. I know you’re having an affair. I heard you just now. I’m not stupid, so tell me the truth. I deserve that at least.’
When the back of his hand hits me square in the face I think he has broken my nose and I cover my eyes, expecting another blow. He rarely stops at one punch so when I feel the car slow I fear the worst as he pulls over to the side of the road. Leaving the engine running he pulls on the handbrake. When nothing happens, no more slaps, I look up and realise we are a few yards away from the level crossing that cuts across the road, a little further down the hill.
It’s a favourite place on the route to the village, where the girls love to watch the barriers fall and guess what side the train will appear from. The track runs through the remote countryside and carries freight trains from the city towards Macclesfield and the south, and Sebastian’s favourite place, London. Well away from me and the girls and Appleton.
Still stunned from the blow I watch as he fumbles in his pockets and realise he’s looking for the indigestion pills that he eats like sweets. Undoing the jar he pops one in his mouth and crunches and while he waits for it to take effect I sob and in the space between, he finally answers.
‘I can’t do this anymore, Carmen. So yes, I am leaving. I’ll go after Christmas. You can tell the girls I’ve found a job working away. It’ll be easier for them to understand.’ He speaks so matter-of-factly I realise that he’s probably been rehearsing it.
There is no remorse in his voice. In fact, he sounds weary. I am in shock, my lips feel funny and I can’t make out if it’s because they are bruised or numb yet I make them work. My voice sounds tinny, like it’s coming down the line of a transatlantic phone call or from space, not my body.
‘Are you going to her? Does she live in London? Is that where you met?’
‘Yes.’ At last he is honest. I want to ask all about her then change my mind because, whoever she is, we are past the competition stage. She has won already even though I’ve tried so hard to win him back.
Bizarrely, amidst such utter turmoil my next thought is practical, for my children. ‘And when will you see the girls?’
‘They can visit or I’ll come and see them when I can.’
I almost laugh at this because I know him too well, this constantly absent father who cares more about himself than them. A man who does everything he can to be away from them. I remain silent.
He decides to twist the knife. ‘And we will have to sell the house. I’ll need the money.’
I reel from his words, my head feels light. ‘But it’s our home, the girls love it there and what about our baby… you can’t walk out now, we can’t sell the house, how could you be so cruel?’
His head snaps around and in his eyes I see pure hate. Spittle erupts from his mouth with such vile words they make me wince as does the jab in my chest. ‘That’s your baby, not mine. I told you I didn’t want it from the start when you tried to trap me again. You should have got rid of it like I said. It was bad enough being saddled with the first one and I was resigned to the second but that, in there, is all your fault so you look after it.’
I look to my belly, to where he points and the horror of what my future will soon become hits me full force. I suddenly see what it entails. I have lived it myself and I cannot bear the thought of my girls going through that.
He won’t come and see them; they won’t go and visit him. Not once he is set up with his new woman. Rosina will be left hating him even more than she does now. Violetta will be left wondering when he will be coming home and my unborn child will be in limbo, caught between two versions of one vile, disgusting man who wanted her dead.
Never have I hated someone as much as I do right now. I cannot bear to look at him and as a huge wave of nausea climbs up my chest I am desperate to get out of the car but my hands are shaking so furiously that I can’t find the handle. And then my attention is drawn back to Sebastian when he makes a strange sound and starts to pull at his shirt and tie. I notice that his face has altered, eyes bulging, his mouth wide, gasping for breath and then he creases, clutches his chest before slumping at the wheel, groaning. And then a gurgling, then nothing.
I watch, morbidly fascinated as he slips into unconsciousness. Tentatively, I say his name and touch the side of his cheek below his ear. I feel a faint pulse and I am stunned not that he isn’t dead, but by my reaction, a sense of utter disappointment.
What to do, what to do?The answer comes in the form of amber flashing lights on the level crossing and I know that soon they will turn to red and the barriers will slowly come down. The idea invades my head so swiftly I have no time to process the pros and cons. Instead, I do as it tells me.
The road behind and ahead is deserted as I pull off the handbrake and as the car begins to move forward, slowly picking up momentum, with my right hand hidden by Sebastian’s chest I easily steer it towards the track. I see the barriers begin to lower and can hear the warning bell as we glide under and once we are on the track, I yank the wheel to the left and the car careers into the post that supports the hinges.
Still Sebastian doesn’t wake or flinch so I leap from the car and around to the driver’s side and fling open the door. Aware of the cameras that point onto the track, even though the grey mist hangs low, I pull at his slumped body that is impossible for a mere slip of a heavily pregnant woman to move.
Turning, I run to the emergency phone box at the side of the track and pull open the door, lift the receiver and wait. Through the swirl of fog on the track I see the dim glow of the train in the distance hurtling towards us as I give a futile wave with my free hand and grip the phone with the other.
